The journey through the Immaterium was a profoundly different experience than before. The fleet was no longer a single, furtive vessel trying to hide in the dark. It was a grand armada, and it traveled with the cacophonous pomp of a holy crusade.
Aboard the Obelisk, the voyage was a tense, silent affair, the crew enduring the psychic horrors of the Warp with grim stoicism. But from the accompanying vessels of the Adepta Sororitas, a constant, powerful broadcast of faith radiated outwards. It was a non-stop chorus of hymns, prayers, and litanies, a blazing beacon of conviction in the sea of chaos. This pillar of belief had a tangible effect: the Geller Fields across the fleet seemed to shine brighter, the claws of daemons found fewer holds, and the journey was unnervingly smooth.
To the Sisters of Battle, it was the first of many miracles, a clear sign of the holy presence they escorted. To Varrus, it was a dangerous beacon, advertising their presence to every predator in the Immaterium. To Rimuru, it was simply… loud.
A council of war was held in the strategium of the Obelisk, the first official meeting of the three powers. Canoness Celestine stood with the unshakeable posture of a living statue, representing the Faith. Lord Inquisitor Varrus sat like a patient spider at the head of the table, representing the hidden Hand of the Emperor. And Rimuru sat between them, representing a headache for everyone involved.
"The Penitent Crusade is a war of attrition and faith, mired in the Ghoul Stars for nearly a century," Varrus began, the holo-lith displaying a bleak, sparsely-charted region of space. "The enemy is a species of xenos designator 'The Osseous Praxis'. They are not conquerors in the typical sense. They are… puppeteers."
The display shifted to show images of the enemy. They were tall, unnaturally slender beings with bone-white skin and multiple, spindly limbs. They had no visible eyes or mouths, their faces smooth, blank masks. But it was their armies that were the true horror. They were composed entirely of the reanimated corpses of their defeated foes. Imperial Guardsmen, Orks, even fallen Astartes, all moving with a silent, eerie precision, their bodies puppets for the will of their masters.
"They do not kill their enemies," Kael elaborated from the side. "They 'harvest' them. They sever the soul and pilot the body, creating an ever-expanding army of silent thralls. The Crusade's greatest struggle is one of morale. Every soldier who falls is another soldier who will stand against them in the next battle. It is a war that punishes sacrifice."
"A war of despair," Celestine stated, her eyes burning with holy fire. "It is a spiritual blight. But they have not faced an army fortified by the presence of a living Saint. We will arrive, and our light will be a fire that burns the shadows from their souls. A glorious, head-on charge is all that is required to shatter their profane silence."
"A glorious charge would also alert the masters of The Osseous Praxis to our most valuable asset," Varrus countered, his voice a low counterpoint. "This is not a foe to be overwhelmed with brute force, but a system to be dismantled. We must first analyze their command structure, their method of control, and strike at the nexus."
"My Lord Inquisitor," Celestine replied, her tone sharp, "you speak the cold logic of the spy. I speak the burning truth of faith. The presence of the holy is, in itself, the greatest weapon."
Before the argument could escalate into a full-blown doctrinal schism, Rimuru cleared his throat. "Why not both?" he asked, drawing the attention of the two Imperial titans. "A visible, inspiring arrival, as the Canoness suggests, to bolster the morale of this struggling crusade. But that arrival will be a feint, drawing the enemy's attention while a small, elite force—led by me—strikes at whatever is controlling the puppets. A glorious charge that leads to a surgical strike."
He had once again presented a simple, logical compromise that satisfied both of their diametrically opposed philosophies. Varrus saw the strategic merit. Celestine saw the opportunity for a glorious, faith-led battle with a miracle at its heart.
A tense agreement was reached.
When the fleet translated back into realspace, they arrived at a scene of grinding, desperate conflict. The void of the Ghoul Stars was bleak, lit by a single, dying red star. A battered, beleaguered fleet of Imperial Navy ships—the Penitent Crusade—was locked in a slow, agonizing battle with a fleet of bizarre, bone-white xenos vessels that moved with an unnatural, silent grace.
The arrival of the pristine, powerful warships of the Inquisition and the Ecclesiarchy was like the coming of angels.
Canoness Celestine seized the moment. Broadcasting on all crusade-wide frequencies, her voice, filled with the fire of absolute conviction, rang out across a hundred warships.
"Behold, faithful soldiers of the Penitent Crusade! Your long vigil is over! Your prayers have been answered! We do not bring you mere reinforcements of steel and shell! We bring you a sign of the Emperor's divine and unending grace! A living Saint, an angel of purification, walks among us! Take heart, for this day, the tide of this cursed war turns!"
On the bridge of the Obelisk, Rimuru heard the broadcast and let out a long-suffering sigh. Here we go again…
The effect on the beleaguered Imperial fleet was instantaneous and electric. Shouts of "A Saint!" and "The Emperor protects!" flooded the vox channels. Ships that had been holding back in defensive formations now surged forward, their crews filled with a new, fanatical zeal.
On the bridge of the Crusade's flagship, the Fist of Piety, Lord General Maximillian, a weary, battle-scarred man who had known nothing but defeat for the past decade, stared at the new arrivals in stunned disbelief. A Saint? Here? In this forgotten hell at the edge of the galaxy?
At the same time, the bone-white ships of The Osseous Praxis ceased their attack. Their silent, graceful advance faltered. Their collective consciousness, used to the predictable patterns of Imperial warfare, was now faced with a new, unknown, and potent variable. The blazing faith, the sudden surge in morale, and the presence of the new, powerful ships had disrupted their cold calculations. They paused, observing, re-evaluating.
A priority channel opened to the Obelisk. The face of the Lord General, weary, grizzled, and utterly dumbfounded, appeared on the holo-lith. He looked past Varrus, past the icons of the Inquisition, his eyes searching for something he couldn't comprehend.
"Lord Inquisitor… Canoness…" he stammered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "We… we were not expecting… a Saint. The Emperor has… blessed us." He swallowed, his military composure returning, but his eyes still wide with awe.
"What are your orders?"
Every head in the strategium—Varrus, Kael, Arken—turned to look at Rimuru.
He was no longer just a curious anomaly or a political asset. He had just been made the unwilling figurehead, the divine hope, and the de facto commander of an entire Imperial Crusade.